


Wild Ones

by spookyghostcurves



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Greasers, F/F, Gang Violence, Protective Rose Quartz, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyghostcurves/pseuds/spookyghostcurves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1959. A group of hoodlums known as the Crystal Gems have been assaulting men all over Beach City, with seemingly no connection between the attacks. Pearl doesn’t think much of it until her abusive boyfriend becomes their next target. And she recognizes their ringleader as the curly-haired waitress from her favorite diner. </p>
<p>Basically the 50s girl gang AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to reconquer for beta-ing this chapter for me and for encouraging me to write out this little idea I had. <3

The smell of French fries and the sound of sizzling burger patties greets Pearl as she steps into the familiar diner. There’s the usual crowd. A couple of teenagers split a milkshake at one end of the bar while a weary looking truck driver leafs through a newspaper at the other, coffee mug in hand. Pearl passes them both to deposit her school bag into a booth at the back of the dining area. First things first – she can’t even open her menu before she’s made her jukebox selections.

She hasn’t even fished her coin purse out when her favorite waitress steps up, tiny notebook in hand.

“You’re here early.”

The sound of Rose’s voice startles Pearl. Probably because she always plans out what she wants to say while she’s picking songs and the ambush catches her off guard.

“Hey—I—yes,” Pearl manages with a nod, before letting out a too-loud laugh. “My class got out a little early, so here I am.” The smile on Rose’s face draws a genuine chuckle from the blonde’s lips. It’s a mystery how one kind look from her can calm the raging sea of worry that floods Pearl’s mind most of the time. But it does. And that’s what brings her to the diner day after day, even though she’ll claim it’s their sweet potato fries until she’s six feet under.

“Should I get the usual started or do you want a menu?”

“Um…”

Rose’s movement makes Pearl flinch but she doesn’t seem to notice. She sets a menu down with a warm smile. “I’ll come back in a few.”

As she turns to leave, Pearl releases a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Nickels in hand, she heads over to the faded Wurlitzer and drops them all in, punching in numbers without glancing at the record book. Scratchy static fills in the air as one record is lifted off the turntable and the mechanical arm lowers another into its place. It’s basic machinery to say the least, but Pearl doesn’t deny herself the pleasure of imagining the gears turning beneath the machine’s glossy exterior to make it work.

The needle eases back into place and soon enough the voice of Buddy Holly fills the small eatery. Pearl takes her seat and opens up the menu, though her eyes are still closed in silent appreciation of the music. Her mother would drop dead if she ever caught her with a personal copy of the record. The fact that she could listen to it here was just another draw.

After fake-paroosing for a few minutes, Pearl shuts the menu and starts to fan herself with it. Rose must take it as a signal, because she returns shortly after. “Sweet potato fries and a vanilla shake?” she asks, already starting to jot the order down. Pearl fidgets with her bracelet nervously. It’s the best gift her boyfriend has given her. Not because of its retail value – last night’s earrings far eclipsed it in that department – but because it gave her something to busy herself with instead of her fingernails. Her cuticles thanked him more than she did.   
“No shake today. Just the fries and a glass of water. Please,” Pearl replies, handing up her menu, “I probably shouldn’t even have that much. Bill’s taking me to dinner tonight.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before,” Rose says, a subtle air of suspicion in her tone.

Damn, she was good.

The sole factor keeping Pearl from ordering her favorite after-class treat is a comment from her mother. This morning at breakfast she pointed out how tight the cuffs of Pearl’s dress were getting, and had to add on that she might need to wear her belt a bit looser soon. It was a simple statement, but the message came in loud and clear.

“I’ve just been trying to watch my figure a bit, that’s all. Say, do you have a break any time soon?” Pearl is quick to change the subject. Rose doesn’t push it. “I think I’m about due for a fifteen. Let me go put this in for you.” She returns to her place behind the counter. Another held breath leaves Pearl’s lips.

When Rose returns she’s without her apron and holding two glasses of water. She scoots Pearl’s bag aside to take a seat and reaches up to adjust her hair before anything else. Pearl watches with quiet interest, a little smile coming to her lips. There’s something intriguing about the way Rose’s fingers, each nail filed round and painted a lovely pale shade of pink, fixed and fussed with pins, rearranging the bright red curls into perfect side-parted victory rolls.

“I don’t know how you do that without a mirror. I can’t even do it with one,” Pearl chuckles.

“Practice makes perfect,” Rose says, tugging her peach-colored bandana so that the tie is centered atop her head. “Besides, I love what you do with your hair.” Pearl scoffs. She’s worn the same haircut with bangs since she was a child. The only change was the upgrade from pigtails to a high ponytail when she entered her senior year of high school.

“You’d better not say that when you take your final cosmetology exam, they won’t pass you,” Pearl teases. “When is that, by the way?”

“I take the written portion tomorrow morning before my shift, then the actual haircut portion is next week.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Not really. I’ll be doing what I love, and pretty soon I’ll be getting paid for it. I’d say I’m excited more than anything else.” Pearl feels herself slipping into that dopey grin reserved for when she’s talking to Rose.

“How about you, how are your classes going?”

“Oh, same old same old. I can’t sew to save my life. I burned the daylights out of my home ec project this week,” Pearl began, thinking back to the fireball that started its life as a meat loaf. “But I’m still the fastest in my typing class, and top of the litter in my home financing class, if I do say so myself.” Her chest puffs up proudly at that, even moreso when Rose offers her a round of applause.

“That’s wonderful!”

Pearl’s face is burning red. Partially due to embarrassment, but largely because the lack of air conditioning doesn’t go well with the late-summer heat. She fans with her hand and eventually a napkin, but her discomfort is still evident.

“Sorry I can’t put the air on. We already switched over to heat for the fall, on account of those cold days last week,” Rose says, sipping her water. “Maybe you could take your sweater off though, that could help.”

Pearl freezes up at the notion, setting her napkin down. “No, I shouldn’t,” Pearl insists with a shaky smile. “It really, er… makes my outfit. I did all the embroidery myself, you know,” she says, holding out her hand to show off the shimmery stitching on the cuffs.

“It’s very pretty,” Rose admits, “But I wouldn’t say it’s worth a heat stroke.”

Before Pearl can come up with another excuse, she’s cut off with the ding of a bell and a monotone call of “Order up,” from the kitchen window. Rose moves to stand, but the voice stops her. “Ah, ah,” the grill cook, Garnet, says, poking her head out of the window. Pearl has only seen her once or twice, and only knows her name because of the times Rose has referenced her. She hasn’t seen any more than her head, but imagines she must be tall if she has to lean down to get to the window. “You’re on your break. Amethyst, bring this over.”

“You got it, boss lady!”

There’s a loud clatter of dishes that makes every patron in the joint cringe and a moment later the bus girl comes sauntering out of the kitchen with the fries in hand. Pearl isn’t overly fond of her. She’s very loud and a bit rude and if Pearl can gather that from seeing her in passing at work, she doesn’t want to imagine what the girl is like outside the diner. When she sets the plate down, Pearl can read the name _Amethyst_ stitched over the breast pocket of her uniform.

“Enjoy,” she says with a dramatic bow before heading back to the kitchen to clean up whatever mess she made. Rose giggles a bit as she heads off. “I love her but I think she just broke more dishes than she’s cleaned today.” The pair snickers quietly before Pearl digs into her fries, offering Rose some. They eat and make small talk for a bit longer, chatting about everything from Pearl’s plans for the evening to the mishaps the diner had seen during the lunch rush. Just as Rose is about to excuse herself to return to work, Pearl becomes too comfortable. She rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, a simple act done midsentence. But the second she sees horror on Rose’s face she knows she’s made a mistake.

The bruises on her wrists are too defined to be accidental, too close to the shape of a man’s hands. Bill’s hands. She hurriedly tugs them back down, as if hiding them can erase the memory from Rose’s mind.

“What are those?”

“They’re nothing.”

“Pearl, look at me. Please.” Her voice is so full of concern and so devoid of the judgment she so fears that Pearl is able to raise her eyes. “They aren’t nothing.”

“Rose, break’s over,” Amethyst calls, emerging from the kitchen and slamming two pots together. “Let’s go already!”

Rose doesn’t move, her eyes still boring into Pearl’s. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

This is the second closest Pearl has ever been to telling someone about her boyfriend’s true nature. The over-possessiveness, the constant scolding, the way he could break her down with a few words and one harsh grip. The first attempt had been with her mother. It didn’t go well. Pearl is certain Rose would be different. Rose would offer her real advice, not convince her that the bruises were her own fault. But Rose’s break is over and she has to meet Bill in just two hours and overall this is not the right time.

She gathers herself and smiles wearily. “I bruise like a peach, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.” She rests her hand over one of Rose’s in a rare physical interaction and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Rose is far from appeased. Pearl can tell.

“Well, I suppose I should get going. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says as she lays a couple of dollars on the table. “For fries _and_ a milkshake.” After a moment’s hesitation, Rose returns the smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Relief floods the blonde’s system as she leaves the diner. As soon as she’s gone, Rose purses her lips and returns to the kitchen.

 

o0o

 

The evening’s start isn’t too bad.

Bill arrives at six pm on the dot. Tonight he has a bouquet of pink roses for her. Pearl doesn’t really like roses, aside from the one obvious exception, but she thanks him with a kiss on the cheek. Her mother takes them away to put them in water, while he asks her father what time he’d like her home by. A guttural groan threatens to leave Pearl’s throat when he says nine-thirty. That’s much too late by her standards. Though he could have said seven and it would still be too long.

They leave arm-in-arm and begin the walk downtown. Pearl savors the silence between them but when they hit the second block he starts giving her sideways glances. He doesn’t like the silence.

“So, how was your day?” she asks. That’s all it takes.

He talks from that moment all the way into town, through town, into the restaurant, and while the waiter is pouring them glasses of water. His current job is an internship at the mayor’s office. Even though Pearl isn’t terribly interested in politics, she’d still rather hear about that then the fine details of every mundane task Bill does throughout the day. The only respite comes when he stops talking long enough to order their food.

“I’ll have the hanger steak, and a house salad for the lady.”

Suddenly Pearl regrets not filling up at the diner.

As soon as the server leaves, Bill is right back at it talking about all the filing he’d done that day and how his supervisor _knew_ that he was the fastest at it out of all the other interns. Pearl lets her mind wander, thinking back to her time at the diner that day. She hopes that Rose won’t bring up the bruises again tomorrow. She’d much rather hear about how her licensing exam went than talk about her boyfriend. She’d rather talk about anything than her boyfriend. For some reason talking to Rose about him always felt so _wrong_.

Just as she’s beginning to ponder the reason, Pearl is shaken from her thoughts by fingers snapping in front of her face. Blood rushes to her cheeks as Bill frowns at her.

“Are you listening?” he asks with a little frown. Looking around, she can see a few people glancing at them. In the quiet restaurant, the snapping has drawn attention. She hates attention.

“I-I, well-“

“You have to stop zoning out like that. It’s dangerous to do that in public, you know.”

“Dangerous?”

“Yeah, you never know what whackos are out these days. Did you hear that another guy got assaulted over on Queen Street?”

“Recently?”

“Just yesterday, I think. I heard some of the ladies at the office talking about it. The guy’s still in the hospital. Lars something?”

Pearl knows him. From what she can remember of him from high school, he’s sort of an asshole. But she simply shakes her head.

“That’s terrible, I hope he’s alright.”

“I didn’t think we’d ever have gang troubles here in Beach City, it’s a darn shame. The victims say it’s a whole crew of loonies who corner them on motorcycles,” Bill scratches under his chin before offering what’s meant to be a charming smile. Pearl sees it as more of a creepy grimace. “But don’t worry, baby doll, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Don’t call me that. Please.”

He seems off-put by her response, but the arrival of their food stops him from bringing it up. They eat in relative silence. It’s not the comfortable silence Pearl appreciates at home. It’s tense.

When they finish, Bill picks up the tab and they begin their quiet stroll through town. Everything is fine until Pearl makes a turn towards her house that Bill doesn’t follow.

“Where are you going?” he asks, glancing at his watch.

“Home,” she says firmly. Not that it helps.

“It’s only eight! We still got time. Why don’t we go down to the beach or something?”

He wraps an arm around her waist and every muscle in her body seizes up.

“Not tonight. I’m very tired and I’d really like to go—“

“Tired?!” he asks, incredulous. “From what? Your _typing_ class? Yeah, I’m sure you’re really worn out.” Pearl feels the familiar heat of humiliation in her cheeks. Luckily no one is around to stare. The pitying glances she received when Bill snapped at her in public were almost worse than the words themselves.

“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” she maintains, struggling to maintain a calm demeanor. “But we can’t all file other people’s paperwork all day.” It was too much, and Pearl knew it, but the words left her lips before she could stop herself. She instantly regretted it.

His hand caught her wrist, thumb digging into its tender underside and drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. “Why do you have to be such a goddamn _prude_ all the time?” He’s right in her face, backing her into the grit of the brick building behind her. She can smell his dinner on his breath and it’s hot and it floods her nose but she squeezes her eyes shut so she can focus on it, so she can focus on anything other than the pain in her wrist or her cheek that she’s sure will follow. “I try so hard to be nice to you and you always have to act like such a stuck up—“

There’s a cracking noise and at first Pearl thinks he’s snapped her hand backwards. But then a scream registers, and it’s not her own. It’s Bill’s.

He stumbles backwards, clutching his hand to his chest. They both turn to see the culprit nearby: a stout figure, with a bandana obscuring the majority of their face. The weapon was a bicycle chain, one they were currently reeling back in and preparing to lash out with again. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Bill demands.

It’s soon clear that the chain-bearer was just a distraction. The real threat is in their accomplice. A towering figure at least two heads over Bill, who comes from the shadows with brass knuckles glinting on both hands. “You’re one to talk,” comes a voice so familiar that Pearl struggles to place it. So much is happening, she’s so overwhelmed, and she doesn’t know what to do. She starts to inch away, preparing to run, when a third unseen body grabs her from behind. The scream in her throat is quelled before it can sound by a gentle touch to her black and blue skin.

“Don’t be afraid.”

That voice Pearl would know anywhere.

She breaks down into hideous tears, Bill’s cries stirring up a wealth of emotions in her. The satisfaction of hearing him finally feel the fear that has plagued her since they first met brings up guilt and shame. A weight is lifted from one shoulder and placed on the other. But stronger than any of that is the confusion.

It’s unclear how long she listens to Bill get assaulted. The screams give way to whimpers, all peppered with the ring of the bike chain shifting and the gut-wrenching sound of metal colliding with flesh and bone. All of it stops when police sirens sound in the distance.

“We have to go,” comes the voice from behind her, and the warm, comforting embrace is gone.

Without hesitation, the attackers retreat, scrambling off in different directions. Pearl knows she only has a few moments before their leader leaves as well. With a shaky breath, she gathers up the courage to turn around. She’s already turned to leave, and Pearl catches a glimpse of the back of her leather jacket. “The Crystal Gems” is embroidered in loopy script, with a star emblazoned beneath it. The redhead turns around just long enough to offer a reassuring smile before she disappears around the corner.

It’s Rose.


End file.
